


My (Intimate, Discriminating) Fears You Test

by Caracalliope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Matriarchy, Caning, F/F, Forbidden Desires, Masochism, Mommy Kink But Make It Matriarchal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: An elegant, jaded veteran visits a discreet ladies' club and finds her appetites sated at last.
Relationships: The Dolorosa/Rose Lalonde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	My (Intimate, Discriminating) Fears You Test

There is not a woman in Her Condescension’s England who is brave or foolish enough to tell Lalonde that her upbringing spoiled her. A challenge of wits or pistols would surely follow the insult, and Rose has proved countless times that she is the unmatched master of both.

Yet, there is a sting of truth in the hypothetical. Mother was a woman of science, her joyously undisciplined mind drawn to the grotesqueries of nature - her heir being one of many. She never curbed Rose’s whims. There was simply no need for Mother to concern herself with the laws of God, of the Empire, or of good taste. At the time, their coffers were as bottomless as their cellars, and reputation only mattered to Mother as far as it didn’t interfere with her wine-sweetened bonhomie.

Lalonde’s teachers were too frightened or apathetic to try and teach her temperance. From her arrival, she treated school like a battlefield, and she was vicious with her fists and even moreso with the secrets she collected. If anyone in a position of power over her considered having her beaten, it must have been obvious that the risk was too high. Much to dear Harley's amusement, the same proved true during the war. Rose’s superiors never had her disciplined - and, after the riverside incident, they extended the same courtesy to her friend.

Harley believes Lalonde shouldn’t risk visiting an establishment like this one, and Dave - oh, Dave did call her spoiled, and he laughed, and then sweet Egbert laughed with horrified delight. But Dave understands her desire even better than a woman would. His upbringing was far from conventional, and he has a certain appreciation for violence divorced from power, as well as the reverse. He meant only that she never lacked for food or new riding boots or coin for a night out with her dearest ones. He has his own strange understanding of discipline, and he would never wish it on her.

… But none of that is of any interest to the elegant Madame Dolorosa Maryam, who said she was looking for a callow filly needful of being put in her place. Rose laughed loudly at that, and then she bought Maryam another drink. She expected to pay Maryam generously and take her to bed. Then, perhaps, she’d let her continue that line of conversation, remaining indulgent and amused. Lalonde is a gentlewoman of odd vices, and she treats people well when she beds them but rarely lets herself become - affected.

It is not clear, at this point, how Rose ended up bent over Maryam’s heavy desk, biting down on her lips to keep the frenzied longing for punishment from spilling out and shaming her. Her palms are damp, and she furtively dries them on her trousers before re-positioning herself. Maryam is new in Town, quite likely to have arrived with nothing more than her wardrobe and jewellery, but she already has a selection of canes at hand. Rose doesn’t know enough to appreciate the difference between them, but Maryam never asked her to choose one.

“I assume you’ve never done this before?” asks Maryam. Her voice is cool and measured, perhaps coloured with a note of derision, and Rose tries to ignore the desperate arousal flooding her cunt.

"I am no stranger to pain," she says, sounding haughty and foolish to her own ears. "I have had intimate enough friendships with trolls to understand pitch dalliance.”

“Ah,” Maryam says, “boxing?” Her tone is one Rose would only use with a kitten - not a very bright one.

“Nothing that should concern you, madam, and I would appreciate it if - ”

Without warning, the cane lands across her clothed legs. Its bite takes Rose’s breath away.

“I ask only because it is unclear how much of this you can take,” Maryam says, “but I suppose that is something we will both learn today.”

There is no clever response Rose can give. All that matters is that she remains in position and keeps her grunts of pain muted.

Maryam strikes her legs and ass. Then, she moves without warning to her shoulders. Is Lalonde’s waistcoat dulling the sting, or is Maryam being more careful here? The sting in her shoulders evokes a sense of helplessness that Rose can’t shake. Suddenly, there is no refuge to be found in her finely-embroidered amour. Maryam could choose to be harsher, and Lalonde wouldn’t shout or move away. She could, and she wouldn’t.

“I watched you speak to the other ladies,” Maryam says, voice betraying no strain or particular interest, “before you got to me. You’re quite straightforward, aren’t you? You move like nobility, though not the highest of highs, and you’re used to being obeyed.”

As the cane lands on the back of her thighs, Lalonde's groan grows into a shout. She will not beg, but she's losing the dignified resilience she meant to hold on to. Maryam pauses, then strikes the same place.

“You accept rejections well enough,” she says, and Rose swallows, hoping she hears approval. The pain is overwhelming when Maryam strikes her thighs once again. “But you like making a scene. Everyone’s eyes on you, all tongues wagging about your stature, your good name, your selection of pretty amusements for the evening. Such confidence, in defiance of the laws of your species - such reckless courage, and yet you never asked me for this one thing you needed so desperately. I suppose that nobody has ever taught you what to ask for.”

Without conscious thought, Rose nods and shakes her shoulders without removing her palms from the desk. The cane lands between her legs with barely any force. Rose will turn around, part them, undress, whatever Maryam wants, as soon as she’s instructed to do so.

She never realized how tall Maryam is, not until she is being embraced from behind. Maryam’s teeth - fangs - Maryam’s lips are on the side of her neck, and then on her damp temple. Maryam’s large, clothed bulge is rubbing and thrashing against her aching ass. Rose has never been this desperate for friction, pain, release.

Maryam steps back suddenly, leaves her shaking.

“You may touch yourself now,” she says, indulgent, maternal. “Show me how you do it when you’re alone.”

Lalonde turns around. Nothing has changed in Maryam’s brightly shining face; she is calm and cold as a river.

Rose craves her touch and doesn’t know how to ask for it. Nobody has taught her that either. So she sits on the edge of the desk, heavily, making it hurt. Her legs are shaking when she unbuttons her trousers, and she shoves her callused fingers inside as roughly as possible. She wishes she could use push her pistol inside her cunt, or maybe the tip of her cane. She misses her leather gloves, which were too crude for this genteel establishment. She would take any friendly, familiar hand between her legs if Maryam is unwilling to lend hers.

But there is nobody else in here, and Rose had locked the chamber with careless confidence before all this began. Maryam doesn’t speak or move as Rose fucks herself with burning cheeks, trying to stay silent until she comes with a torn sigh. Then, Maryam grips Rose’s wrist. Her hold is implacable as she licks the slickness off of Rose’s hand, and her smile is sharper than any Rose has ever seen.

“My girl,” says Dolorosa Maryam, “you taste almost like someone I miss at times. Sweeter, though. And much easier to improve.”

“What can I do for you?” Rose asks. It is a question she’s asked countless times in the aftermath of a climax. Usually, she's asked for money, discretion, reassurance, or her hand. She doesn’t know what she’s offering now.

“Come and have tea with me,” Maryam says. She brushes her knuckles across Rose’s shorn hair. “Have your troll friends introduced you to pale dalliances too?”

“No,” Rose says. She feels cold and too small for her waistcoat. She should have taken that off, should have prepared for this somehow. Maryam reaches over to button up her trousers, and Rose doesn’t move to stop her.

“Another lesson we will cover,” Maryam murmurs, and her hand is steady on her shoulders. “Let’s sit you down, sugargrub. I believe I was promised an exchange of information.”

Rose bows her head, and she’s allowed to rest it against Maryam’s collarbone. The kiss by her hairline is unexpected, cool, and it’s just enough to get Rose to obey.


End file.
